Red stones, red walls, red stories started it all. A simple drawing spoke about Time. Whispers passed the tale further, expressing and mixing their own self in it. Even when the tale got complex, even when the sound differed, the story kept flowing.
It trickled once to form a rivulet, never imagined of becoming an ocean… an ocean that defies gravity.
The story about a drawing in a cave, about a lost civilisation, about the pyramids, about the iron idols, about the farms and wheels, about smoke engines and machines, about the moon and the first man… a never-ending saga that teaches and preaches and reveals and warns to remember it all.
Every day begins an untold story and every day ends an old story.
Red stories, you are moulding and folding time beautifully… and I am listening.
San rock paintings from the Western Cape in South Africa. [Source – Wikipedia Commons]
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